


Sacrifice

by cunning_capra



Series: Persona Gravy Gang 2020 [4]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cooking, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Introspection, Kind of morbid humor, Kitagawa Yusuke & Sakura Futaba Friendship, Light Angst, Lobster death, Minor Kitagawa Yusuke/Sakura Futaba, PersonaGravyGang2020, Post Vanilla P5, Started off crack and then got kind of serious?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25894372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunning_capra/pseuds/cunning_capra
Summary: “I am doing as well as one could hope,” He says amiably, glancing down at his sketchbook again with a forlorn sigh, “I had always heard that breakups were difficult, but...the reality is staggering.”Persona Gravy Week Day 6: Breaking up with a loved one for gravy
Series: Persona Gravy Gang 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879036
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Day 6 - Leaving You For Gravy





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a vegetarian you probably don't want to read this. I wouldn't say it's upsetting but Yusuke does end up cooking his lobster so there's THAT.
> 
> This fic took on a whole life of it's own. It has a similar take away as Comfort Food, but ultimately plays out very different. I am much of the mind Futaba can either cook well because of who she was raised by, or can't cook worth shit. I tried the latter last time, so I decided to play with idea of her being competent in this one. ANYHOW not sure why I'm explaining in depth parts of what is ostensibly a crack fic LMAO but enjoy! Also who knows what happened to the other lobster it’s fine. It’s fine. 
> 
> (I didn't edit this at all, so if you see any mistakes pls let me know I'm sure they exist)
> 
> Come join in the fun at @gang_gravy on twitter, gravygangofficial on tumblr, and gang.gravy on instagram!

“I’m sorry,” Yusuke says. He swallows and grips the stove top tightly with his left hand, “I’m sorry but I cannot do this anymore.”

He stares down at the glossy black eyes of the lobster. Soulless, fathomless eyes. Eyes he once loved and revered. But the lobster had not provided the inspiration he sought. No, its crustacean beauty eluded his brush, and his funds were running short and there was naught left for him to do but bring this to an end.

“My deepest apologies. I could not do you justice. I could not give you the commemoration you deserve.” He sighs miserably, letting the steam from the boiling water caress his face as he leans over a giant pot. He reaches for the lid and looks away, “Goodbye, dear one. May we meet again in another…”

The lobster twitches sadly in his hand, and he pauses. Watching the way the red claws grasp at open air, unbothered by its impending end, and subsequent transmogrification into a fine gravy with which to fill his stomach. _How exquisite_ , he thinks, marveling at its shell, _how enchanting_. He admires how it spends its last moments on this earth, not dwelling on mortality but continuing on as it always has. A lonely existence. The world continues spinning, unmoved by death or tragedy. That is the fickle fate of the universe. The complex and intricate web of-

“INARI,” Futaba exclaims, crashing in through the front door. She catches herself on the door frame, shucking off her shoes with a kick that sends them flying across his room, “Inari you mentioned food?”

Yusuke drops the lobster in surprise.

“Oh dear,” Is all he says, as he quickly slams the lid over the pot.

* * *

To his own chagrin Yusuke finds himself at a standstill in the midst of de-shelling the lobster. He can’t move- frozen in place looking at the remnants of the most important relationship of his life. _How could I have done this?_ he wonders, as Futaba gently nudges him out of the way, pulling a youtube tutorial up on her phone.

“I’ve got it.” She says, in a gruff manner reminiscent of her surrogate father. She jerks her chin towards his low table, covered in paints and papers, “Go take a breather okay? I’ll call you back over when I’m done.”

“Thank you,” He murmurs, ducking away from the counter, a tremor to his voice, “You see, this is very difficult for me as-”

“Go sit down,” Futaba says gently, raising an eyebrow at him over her shoulder.

So he sits. He sits and looks at his open sketchbook, at the lobster anatomy flooding the pages in splashes of crimson gauche and black ink. The creature had _trusted him_ , had loved him, and Yusuke had not noticed. Hadn’t cared. Had discarded it, _sacrificed_ it to feed his empty stomach!

He strokes a finger over a carefully rendered lobster, agony twisting in his stomach. _How quickly one realizes what they have lost_ , he thinks tenderly. _How easily you toss away that which is most important. The brevity of life, of love..._ he sighs.

“Are...you okay over there?” Futaba asks, interrupting his thoughts. She is working diligently, long orange hair swept back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck.

 _I betrayed the lobster._ Yusuke thinks. _I betrayed it._ He cherished it and gave it shelter in his heart, and then he took its very life from it, just to satisfy his dinner plans.

“Ah,” he says aloud, “Is this how Akechi felt, pressing his gun to the temple of Akira’s cognitive double?”

“Excuse me?” Futaba splutters, whipping around to look at him.

He doesn’t elaborate. Slumps against the table and sighs.

“Perhaps,” He says, “Perhaps I can wait another few days before eating.”

“No chance.” Futaba says, “Besides, I’ve already finished shelling and cutting it.”

They get to work on the bisque, Futaba throwing the empty shells into a pot to be boiled for the stock while Yusuke stirs together onion, carrot and celery into a mirepoix. Futaba hums to herself next to him, swaying slightly. He tries to focus on that, on the high breathy notes of the Featherman opening song reverberating from her throat, instead of the meat of his dear lobster sitting in his tiny refrigerator. At long last they leave the bisque to simmer on the stove, settling in at the table yet again. Futaba pulls her laptop out of her bag, pulling up an episode of Featherman R, and Yusuke procures a pencil. They let silence descend.

Yusuke sketches the outline of a lobster. And then another. Futaba doesn’t demand his attention, doesn't seek useless conversation. In fact Futaba understands the throws of creative passion just as well as he - the yearning to build, to work, to exist in a space outside the realm of earth.

They have a mutual understanding, he decides, drawing the bridge of her nose and her keen eyes, zeroed in on her phone. They coexist.

Just as he had with his lobster.

His eyes water.

“You feeling any better?” Futaba asks after a while, socked foot pressing against his knee. She pokes him with her big toe. He moves to push it away, but she jolts at his touch to her ankle, face flushing a bright pink. Puzzled he doesn’t move his hand, nor her foot. She doesn’t comment, but also doesn’t relax. Curious.

“I am doing as well as one could hope,” He says amiably, glancing down at his sketchbook again with a forlorn sigh, “I had always heard that breakups were difficult, but...the reality is staggering.”

She blinks at him owlishly behind her large glasses, “Uh, okay.” She says, brow furrowing. He pats her ankle gently, and lets her withdraw, “That’s. A really weird way to look at it but… I mean. I guess some people have their waifus and others have uh. Lobsters. Or gravy now I guess.”

“Yes,” He agrees, “I suspect the grief will subside when I am reminded of the fruits of my labor and rewarded with a full stomach.”

He puts a hand over his abdomen solemnly, feeling another pang of grief.

She snickers, leaning her elbow against the table nonchalantly. “We should be able to add the lobster and cream soon. Then we can make quick work of the gravy and mashed potatoes.”

Futaba works over the pot, finishing off the bisque, while Yusuke cooks the bacon in a saucepan, adding in onions and garlic. They do a quick trade off - Futaba pours the bisque into the saucepan, and Yusuke moves wordlessly to the sink to peel potatoes. He only cuts himself once, peeling the last potato, and he watches the small cut well up with red. Truly, he has put his blood sweat and tears into this dish, he thinks, feeling satisfied. Futaba however pushes him out of the way.

“What are you doing Inari??” She demands, “This is like. Tutorial level stuff. You can’t just _bleed_ all over our potatoes.” She forces his hand under a stream of water, and pushes his bled on potato out of the way.

“It seemed thematically fulfilling.” Yusuke said, watching his scratch be rinsed clean, “The lobster gave its life for me, and so must I put my life blood into this dish. For this gravy.”

“Did you cut yourself elsewhere?” Futaba asks, “Did you lose more blood than I thought? How’s your HP bar? Is the bad end screen fading in?”

“I am perfectly fine.” He says, patting her once on the head, “I will bandage my injury myself, do not worry.”

“Right.” Futaba says dubiously.

When he returns from the bathroom, the potatoes have been neatly sliced and set in a pot to boil, a large spoon for mashing set aside for him.

“When you said you wanted to help make the gravy, I was not sure whether to let you.” Yusuke says, watching as she sprinkles flour into the bisque to create a roux, “I had no idea you held talents outside of the technological.”

Futaba’s nose screws up and she gives him a deeply unfathomable look.

“I’m not going to unpack that. But uh. Mom taught me to cook. And. Sojiro and I have been spending a lot of time in the kitchen together. You know to. Make up for lost time I guess. It’s for him! I’m not lonely,” She laughs, high pitched and shaky, “But I think. Maybe he is. So we cook dinner together. At this rate I’m gonna be a max rank chef and take over Leblanc! Just kidding.”

“I see.” He says. He thinks. Trying to remember the last time he shared a kitchen with anyone. Ate a meal in his own home with someone. He knew how to cook in theory, how to make leftovers last days, make them unrecognizable new meals. The older students at Madarame’s atelier had taught him that. He remembers being a child and watching one of the older boys fry up an egg in the dead of night, glistening white with a sunshine yellow center. They had laughed and eaten it with a slice of bread, sitting on the hardwood floor of the studio. They had been reprimanded for the crumbs the next day.

Futaba returns to humming,dragging a ladle through the thickening lobster gravy, and Yusuke mashes the potatoes with his spoon after draining the pot of water and adding butter.Then they’re pulling out paper plates and plastic utensils and kneeling at the table to eat.

The image is exactly what he had hoped it would be. The vibrant coral and white of the crab is a stark contrast to the glazed brown of the gravy, dripping down the slopes of creamy mashed potatoes. He frames it with his hands, examining it from all angles, and slowly picks up his pencil. Across the table, Futaba lifts a spoonful of it to her mouth, eating it with gusto.

His hand stills.

“We didn’t do too bad Inari!” she exclaims once her mouth is empty, “Man all those years of playing Cooking Mama really paid off!”

“Indeed.” He says politely, “I would not have been able to make this meal without you.”

He puts his pencil down. Picks up his spoon.

And eats with company at his table.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr and twitter @ cunningcapra


End file.
